


Firebrand 🔥

by PacificOuroboros



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Parent Kurosaki Isshin, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort's a ways off, Fleeting OCs of no consequence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Self-Harm, Slow start bear with me, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no white picket fences here, sex as a coping mechanism, verbal and physical abuse from Isshin only chpt3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacificOuroboros/pseuds/PacificOuroboros
Summary: 🔥   🔥   🔥Ichigo is unsuccessfully attempting to cope with his past, a break up, and an immense change in his life.  All of which, he's certain, is his own fault.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Past Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	1. Kinaesthesia

1\. Kinaesthesia

🔥 🔥 🔥

Ichigo felt like he kept chasing a feeling, rather, a memory of a feeling. It was elusive, and perchance destined to be one of a kind. Leaning back into the railing on the bar, he scanned the crowd out of habit. Disappointment slid into his thoughts like the tide rising. Tossing back the rest of his drink, he pushes off the bar and wades into the crowd as a familiar beat builds.

Surrendering to the music, eyes closed he can feel the others around him as he moves and weaves towards his corner. It is favoured with optimal volume, is slightly darker than the center and has a bit more room to move since he wasn’t above working a few kata forms into his dancing. He loses himself to the music. Frustration, loneliness and longing combining with the rhythm and lyrics creates a catalyst of emotion and the present disappears.

As if transported, he can nearly feel the other man so close to him that the memory of body heat is seared into his hip, side and nape of his neck. The cruel brand on his soul throbs. It was painful enough to open his eyes and blink back the wet evidence of the effect of this particular nostalgic path. Startled, he steps back as there is a petite woman far too close and reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Come on handsome, come out in the light and dance with me?” She only slurs a little.

He waves his hands in the universal no thank you motion and tries to look apologetic. She shrugs and drifts back out into the melee and his shoulders lower a fraction. A few beats later an arm snakes around his chest and a body presses into his back.

A low voice right in his ear says, “Maybe you’d rather dance with me?” 

Ichigo pivots out of the light grip with practiced ease and flows into a body roll, swiveling his hips while assessing his new company. Tall, blond, muscular, and good looking, he makes a split decision and grins while looking up through his eyelashes. This one will do for tonight, to take the edge off. They move round each other looking like a spar setting up in a dojo. 

Playfully, Ichigo runs a hand down the stranger’s forearm and grasps his hand. Tugging him closer, he places his other hand on the man’s chest. The spotlights are bright with the song building and the man’s hair is backlit, glowing brilliant as if a golden god. They dance, allowing the chemistry of attraction to emphasize each lingering touch. 

A few heady songs later, he is flat against the wall nearly riding the other’s thigh, kissing like his life depended on it. A brief moment of clarity gets shoved into the backseat as lust takes the wheel. He tells himself he will deal with the fallout later if there is a chance to feel a little, to abate the numbness.

Tipping his chin up and knocking his head against the wall behind, he breaks the kiss and breathes hard for a moment, staring boldly at his new companion.

“Did you want to stay, or...” Ichigo trailed off as his partner leans back and pulls on his hand towards the door. His heart beat a little faster and a little shiver rippled down his back.

As they sidestep the entry queue; the man drops his hand and grabs Ichigo’s waist, drawing him into a kiss. Ichigo pushes him off a bit, blushing from the cat calls.

Ichigo cuts to the chase asking, “Did you drive?”  
The blond nods his head and walks out to a low silver coupe as the parking lights flash amber from the key fob. Ichigo slides into the passenger seat as the man pushes the start button and syncs the shifter into reverse. His fingers trace the red stitching on the dash, glancing at the driver. “Quite the car, you just leave it on the street like that?”

With a snort, the driver says, “C’mon, put on your seat belt.” Raising his eyebrows, “Tell me your name?”  
Ichigo clicks the belt in place and responds, “Ichigo.”  
“I’m Grant.” He leans over, steals a kiss, and asks, “Your place or mine?”  
Ichigo smiles and murmurs, “Let’s go to yours.”

The streets slip by with the throaty sound of the engine shifting. Grant’s driving is smooth and Ichigo starts to feel like he’s cooling down. He tries to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows with a practiced neutral position of his jaw, pressing his shoulders into the seat back and closing his eyes briefly. Grant drops the car into third and curves off a ramp, flips down the visor and hits a remote. The gate to a parking garage under a modern condo building begins to roll up as they turn down the street and the car lets out a pop as he downshifts into second. Gliding in neutral he parks the car in a numbered slot and jokes about not waking the neighbors with the exhaust.

Ichigo laughs softly and pops the door open, notes the gate rolling shut and the single deadbolted door to the right and the elevators ahead. He drops his shoulders and balances his weight unconsciously.  
“Come on, this way.” Grant moves to the elevator and presses the call button. Once in the elevator Ichigo notices Grant has pushed 26. Feeling cliché, Ichigo still decides to jump start the action again and draws Grant to him with both hands around his jaw and ears and takes a few more kisses. He can’t deny that the man is an above average kisser though. 

Fumbling into the condo, still kissing, Grant drops his keys on the counter and manhandles Ichigo, pushing him up against the wall, pinning him with his torso and going after his mouth again. Ichigo lets a moan loose and it’s like dumping a whole box of lit matches into kerosene. Grant fully picks him up and strides into the next doorway and tosses him into the bed. Using the momentum to roll up to his knees, he rips his shirt off over his head, chucking it towards the open doorway. Grant whistles low and runs his hands up Ichigo’s bare chest and pushes him back on the bed mouthing warm skin haphazardly. Appetites whetted, they strip each other and roll around a bit more feeling their heat against the cooler room. Grant gets the obligatory nightstand drawer open and holds out the lube with a question mark sound. Ichigo takes it, pops the lid and gives him a quick wet stroke, then teases the bigger man with a pull at the rim, smirking. Grant laughs, tosses a condom at him and drops his thighs apart. 

It’s only the start for what becomes a marathon session of losing themselves in each other, and the windows are already lightening as they come for the final time. Getting up for the bathroom, Ichigo hooks his pants and boxers on a toe and subtly drops them with his shirt, knowing from the weight his phone and keys are still in his pocket. He takes a piss and then crawls back in the bed, under the covers and curls into the side of the bigger man. He is already breathing slower, sated and sleepy. Within the next 20 minutes he is asleep and Ichigo carefully begins to extricate himself. Surprisingly fast, Grant snakes out an arm over his chest and grumbles, “Just stay.”

Ichigo goes rigid and breathes shallowly, struggling to locate a standard reaction. 

“Ichigo. Hey now. Ichigo. Come on.” He hears as sound registers again.  
Embarrassed, he blushes all the way down to his chest and struggles to get free. Grant takes a risk and tightens his hold, rolling Ichigo up on top so he can hold him with both arms. The squirming suddenly stops and hot tears are running down his collarbone and the back of his neck into his hair. 

Grant pets his head, and quietly says, “You don’t have to stay, I didn’t mean to scare you. But I don’t want you to tear out of here upset.” Ichigo goes limp and as soon as the big arms relax a little, he breaks out of the hold and scrambles to the edge of the bed. He wipes his eyes and gets up, grabs his clothes and bolts for the bathroom.

He doesn’t want to examine having a crying jag in front of a total stranger, and flight mode kicks in. “Fuck!” he whispers as he hurriedly gets dressed, wiping his face off with a towel. All he needs now are his shoes, luckily they are slip on. Rotating the door handle slowly to not click, he bobs his head out into the hallway and his heart drops from his throat down to his gut. Straight ahead Grant is sitting on the floor, leaning back against the front door, soft light from over the range in the kitchen turning his hair into brass. Ichigo freezes, unsure of the intent as anxiety crawls up his back like a big lizard. 

Grant is still, eyes closed. Ichigo takes the opportunity to step lightly into the hallway and ease towards his Vans. He’d rather be barefoot, but doesn’t want to carry anything in his hands. Blinking, he begins to assess how to get him away from the door, his singular need to leave overpowering any hope for reason. Gliding closer, just inside the main room, a board creaks and Grant’s head snaps up. His eyes are bleary and he gives a half smile. He calmly says, “I don’t suppose there’s much I can say right now to get you to stay for a minute, to eat or drink something?”

Ichigo calculates how much time it will take to get out the door if he asks for a glass of water. Grant snorts a short chuff and pats the floor next to him. “Just please come sit.”  
Ichigo drifts closer, and crouches in front of him, tense, just out of arm’s reach. He must be showing too much on his face if Grant can read him that easily.  
“I won’t be so arrogant to believe I have anything to do with whatever this is. But it’s obvious it has a hold on you and I’d rather you left here in a better state of mind, or let me drive you.”

Ichigo’s eyes flick to the doorknob, then back at Grant. The furrow between his eyebrows deepens.

Ichigo wants to scratch his arms; make the crawling stop, but he’s trained himself to watch it in public. He checks his watch; 3 am so not terribly late yet. He looks at the doorknob again and blows out his breath just short of a sigh, then slides his tongue stud along the seam of his lips.

Grant tracks the silver ball then looks him in the eye and asks, “So what exactly happens if you don’t get home?”

Ichigo’s scowl reaches his mouth, and he snarls out, “None of your business!” before he can stop himself. 

“No, it’s really not. But it’s hard to not notice the bruises I didn’t leave, and how hyper aware you are.” Grant calmly says while spreading his hands out palms up. “I get it, maybe you don’t want to talk to me, but please talk to somebody. Are you sure I can’t drive you home, or somewhere else if you won’t stay here?”

Ichigo drops his head down between his arms that are resting on his knees and tries to regain his composure. Acquiescing appears to be the only pathway out. He spits out, “Okay. Fine. Can you take me back to the club then?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Grant takes his hand, having closed the distance between them.  
“Give me your phone.” 

Ichigo fishes it out of his pocket and swipes it open. Grant creates a contact and saves his number. He notices the background picture is Ichigo in the arms of a big, sneering guy with blue hair. Handing back the phone, his eyes are soft and he presses his lips to Ichigo’s forehead.  
“I really hope you call me if you need anything. I really enjoyed tonight, and would take you out again, anytime.” 

Ichigo flushes, his ears bright red. He mutters, “No, you really don’t want anything to do with me.” Then he smoothly flows up from the crouch, and jams his hands in his pockets. Refusing eye contact, he quietly asks, “Can we please go now, I really need to get back.”

🔥 🔥 🔥


	2. Marcescence

2\. Marcescence

  
🔥 🔥 🔥

Ichigo breathlessly shuts the door, locks it, and fastens the chain. Sprinting up the stairs shouldn’t wind him, but he’s anxious and a little drunk still. He looks around the apartment, making a list in his head. Why did he wait so long to get things done? His watch says 4am, so no sleep tonight if he doesn’t want to hear all about what a loser he is.

He begins to clean the kitchen, working his way towards the back of the house. It could be worse, but he’s actually pretty organized and it’s only been a week. Plus, he wasn’t home much. The distraction is welcome as he’s not interested in taking emotional inventory yet. He takes a shower when the last load of laundry is drying, and is startled by loud banging while pulling his pants on. Running to the door he takes the chain off and the door flies towards him, almost clipping his knee.

“Dammit, why do you always put the chain on?” Grimmjow growls out as he dumps bags on the floor and kicks the door shut with a foot. “Here, this is for you,” he says while shoving a tote bag into Ichigo’s hands.

Ichigo looks at the Chappy pattern on the outside and guesses it is from Rukia. He feels like his insides are going to dry up into dust. “Who all did you see? Besides Rukia, I mean.”

Grimmjow yells from the bedroom, “Most everyone was in the meeting, they all asked after you.” He steps back out into the living area and runs his hands over his bare face. Ichigo doesn’t think he is ever going to be used to him without the jawbone. But the gigai is a necessary evil since Ichigo has no spiritual pressure.

“Did Urahara go with you?” Ichigo asks as nonchalantly as he can manage while rummaging through the gift bag.

Grimmjow walks in the kitchen and gets a beer and leans back against the counter. “No, he just opened the Senkaimon. He said to tell you hello.”

Ichigo contemplates how long it’s been since he’s seen Getaboshi. Why bother visiting, as Urahara would ignore his reluctance to discuss the loss of his spirits and the break up with Grimm. How much he wants to see a different look than pity for once, or what the real thing would be like instead of a stand in. His chest feels like lead; after all, he’s never going to measure up. 

Ichigo takes the tote bag into the bedroom and puts it on his dresser, then sits on the bed. He feels some vertigo, from staying up all night and being a little hung over. Or maybe from chasing that particular rabbit down the hole of his inadequacy. Better stay moving. Don’t think about the past. Make some lunch or maybe clean the bathroom. He scratches his arms. Tunnel vision takes over and he curls up on his side to try to stop the nausea. 

His heart rate spikes and all he can think about is all of the terrible things he’d done in the war. Everyone he ever hurt, or let down. How he couldn’t stop people he cared about from dying. About Shiro and Ossan. How he is never, ever enough. How Urahara had to step in and finish it. How anyone spending enough time around him got overtaken by the rot that seemed to spill from his empty soul.  
How everyone leaves.

“Ichigo.”

He comes up fighting, hearing his name, but his wrists are restrained. 

“Ichigo, c’mon”

The panic multiplies and he arches his back to get a leg free. _Why is he always being held down?_ He thrashes violently.

“Ichigo, settle down,” the low timbered voice grumbles.

He blinks and recognizes Grimm, as the afternoon sun is slatted across the bed, striping his arms and legs. He groans, “Why did you let me sleep?” His arms are burning.

“You looked like you needed it. I didn’t think you were going to do this,” Grimm says as he lifts Ichigo’s right arm, showing him the scratches that are bleeding. 

Ichigo knows better than to snatch his arm away. Grimm looks disappointed and his mouth is a narrow straight line. Ichigo bares his throat and goes limp, hoping Grimm responds to the non-verbal cue.

Dropping Ichigo’s hands he says, “Go wash that up and put something on it. You’re getting the covers bloody.”

* * *

Ichigo goes into avoidance mode over the course of the next few weeks. He immerses himself in routine; goes to his end of semestre exams, his crummy market job, cooks, cleans, pretends to sleep. He responds to conversations but doesn’t initiate any. Grimmjow is increasingly irritated, nitpicking every small thing, constantly pushing like he is trying to start an argument. His free time is being controlled, and his every move monitored. Ichigo feels the tension building to that point where he knows he won’t hold out much longer.

He finally snaps Saturday night after a particularly snarky comment about the fish being overcooked. Ichigo snarls, “Grimm! Just go already! You know you just want to be back in Hueco Mundo with Starrk. You don’t have to babysit me! Believe me, I know that is all this is anymore with Shiro gone.”

Grimm stands up and stalks forward, and Ichigo bursts into tears and bolts. Even with their history, the unexpected overt emotion is unusual enough to stun Grimmjow for a minute, allowing Ichigo to make it out the door. He knows that Grimmjow can catch up if he really feels like it. He takes the rear stairs to the parking garage hoping Grimm will pick the elevator or lobby stairs since Ichigo never drives.

He’s just in jeans and a t-shirt, and has his wallet, but his phone is still on the table upstairs. _I can work with that._ He wipes his eyes and punches in the code on the digital lock of Grimm's sedan and grabs his spare hoodie out of the backseat and locks the car again. Walking out the ramp on the rear side of the building, completely opposite of the lobby doors, he sets out at a ground eating lope. 

After a few blocks, he drops into a walk and darts into a coffee shop with bookshelves and plush chairs. He orders a mocha, rinses his face off in the restroom and curls up in a corner out of the line of the sight to the front door. Gathering his thoughts, he starts to feel that loneliness eating through him, caustic and bitter. 

It’s been weeks since Grant, and the unsolicited affection and care was as heady as much as it was frightening. Maybe he can find someone else willing to take him home tonight so he doesn’t have to go back to the apartment. He wouldn’t mind a kind touch, even if his inner demons ruin it as quickly again.

He mentally runs through the clubs he can get into looking this casual. It’s still so early, he has to waste some time first. Grabbing a book off the shelf nearby, he skims the book and sips the mocha. He breathes very slowly on purpose, trying to not think about how fucked he is, whether he still has a place to live, how much he doesn’t want to move back to the family house, and why his emotions are so close to the surface.  
_Not gonna scratch._

🔥 🔥 🔥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💙 Thank you for the lovely kudos 💙
> 
> 🔥 🔥 🔥


	3. Gravitational collapse

3\. Gravitational Collapse

  
🔥 🔥 🔥

Hours later, with his first conquest of the evening already gone, he is blowing a tall, lanky guy with long silky black hair in a bathroom stall. Ichigo deliberately wraps a handful around his wrist and hooks his thumb through a belt loop and tries to not pull. Unfortunately, the distraction allows a thought about reality to bubble up to the surface and he nearly gets up to leave. But his temporary partner grabs the side of his face and rubs his thumb along his cheekbone and whispers, “You’re so good, such a perfect mouth, c’mon look up at me sweetheart.”

Ichigo makes eye contact and the man strokes his hair with his other hand, praising him with small exclamations and sighs. Ichigo is basking in the attention and gives his best, swallowing him down his throat as the man shudders and comes. He pulls Ichigo up, tucks him into his chest and pets his hair and back a little more. His left hand is curled around his neck with his thumb lightly resting in the hollow of Ichigo’s throat.

He asks, “Do you want to come with me to another club? This one is just going to get more crowded and hotter.” He gives a squeeze, tilting Ichigo’s head up to catch his eyes. “I think you’d like it, we can find a booth and have a little more fun.”

Ichigo is floating a bit, his eyes a little glazed and nods, “yeah, okay.” 

They take off and the new venue is not too many blocks away. The man has a group of friends tagging along, talking amongst themselves. They are greeted at the entryway and the hostess knows the group, exchanging pleasantries. As promised, they pile into a booth facing the dance floor and a small stage. Drinks show up, and Ichigo finishes his in a few swallows. The man pulls him into his lap, wraps his arm around Ichigo’s waist and kisses him, while kneading the top of his thigh.

Ichigo is a little surprised by the sudden move, but gets into the kiss enough to recover. The man pecks small kisses up to his ear and says, “Your skin is so soft. You’re so perfect, I want more of you.” Ichigo flushes and grinds down a little, and manages to ask, “What did you have in mind?”

Just then the music cuts over to a new track and the stage lights up. Ichigo turns his head to see what the commotion is about. His hands tighten on the man’s shoulders when he sees the cross with a young man trussed up. His breath quickens as the dom comes out with a flogger and gets to work.

As Ichigo is entranced by the stage show, his date keeps the rounds of drinks coming. Inebriated to the point of feeling content and sappy, he turns around on the man’s lap and leans back against the warm chest. As arms tighten across his ribs, the idle thought surfaces of why is it so difficult to feel this secure more often. He wraps his date’s silky hair around his fingers, over and over.

The show comes to an end and Ichigo can feel the press of his date getting hard as he nuzzles around sucking on the base of his neck, fingers wandering along his waistband.

“mmm, c’mon let’s get out of here” and the man stands up, easily lifting Ichigo, then setting him on his feet. He drops a stack of bills on the table and strides out the front door with Ichigo glued to his hip. He wedges a hand into Ichigo’s back pocket. Ichigo clocks the friend trailing to the left and wiggles his fingers, waving the man forward. Eyebrow arched, the guy snorts as Ichigo drapes his other arm over his shoulders. Ichigo smiles like the cat with a canary. 

A flash of white and yellow eyes blaze through his memory and he staggers, then plays it off as drunken stupor. How little his classmates ever really knew him, or they’d have recognized Shiro in a heartbeat, instead of thinking he was Ichigo in solarized negative. He licks his lips, wishing his tongue was blue.

* * *

Fuzzy mouth and a pounding headache ground Ichigo in the moment, as the two men get up from the bed, jostling him. The tall, slim man leans down and plunders his mouth one more time, his hair spilling like liquid across Ichigo’s bare chest. Ichigo considers tipping him back into bed, but he’s a little slow and a small skip in time has the men suddenly dressed in the doorway almost as if by flash step. Ichigo scowls a little and sprawls on the bed rubbing his forehead. _‘tisn’t right._ The door clicks and he is alone. He’s still drunk and drifts a little thinking about how the man looked so much like Byakuya. _Missed opportunities for certain there,_ he giggles a bit. Still feeling euphoric he allows himself to pass out, just a little.

* * *

He wakes roiling like a windmill of long gangling limbs, heaving like a last breath, and flinching from the confusing smells of a hospital and, curry? It’s an assault on his senses and he retches, feeling his back pop from the severity of the involuntary motion.

He groans, "hyuunnnngh." His heart sinks into his feet, there is no other explanation. 

_Why. Am. I. Home._

Raised voices echo down the hallway, and Ichigo stills letting their voices wash over him. Goat face is freaking out, a bit more than usual even. Ichigo cracks open an eye, damn, he’s actually bellowing, and sounds really pissed. Then he hears a soft voice countering, and his breath catches in his chest as the fine hairs raise on his skin. _Urahara_ is here, and he can hear him trying to calm Isshin.

“Just calm down, you don’t want to make any rash decisions…”

“CALM DOWN? You want ME to CALM DOWN??? When I’ve had to collect my son looking like a cheap whore from a love hotel, AND they knew the clinic’s NAME!!!!”

 _Oh no._ Ichigo runs down his list, all he had was his wallet, no phone. _Oh no._ Yuzu’s grocery list from weeks ago, neatly written on the clinic’s stationery. _Oh no._ His family name matching on his ID. This is what he gets for languishing in the hotel feeling sorry for himself, or worse yet, enjoying some peace with his demons distracted and sated. He shreds his forearms in seconds with long red lines.

Urahara is murmuring, calming tones apparent, but Ichigo is unable to make out any specific words. His chest tightens and he begins to gather himself to try to sit up, heart beating like a rabbit trying to get out.

Isshin explodes once more “You said he would be human, and he could get on with his life. Instead he’s dragging down this family. I can’t have my daughters exposed to this, and the clinic does not need this type of publicity. They asked if we would service their clientele. It’s mortifying to ask us, a respectable clinic for such a thing.”

“Isshin…” Urahara begins, only to be cut off once more.

“No, Kisuke. I tolerated the brawling and him being conscripted into that world. But YOU made this problem, YOU let him fraternize with that hollow, YOU said the apartment would solve the issues, and instead the problems just keep coming back HERE. I want him GONE.”

Ichigo feels his world go sideways. Grief like a weight making him gasp for air. Bad enough to have disappointed Grimm, much less Urahara, but he’s really slipping if he’s been so obvious around his family. He’s nauseous thinking that his behavior would make anyone look down on his sisters. It’s unforgivable.

His field of vision is crawling smaller, the edges festering like burning film. Heaving himself vertical, he staggers to his feet and looks for his shoes. Dammit, there is nothing here. Weighing his options, he decides to forgo the shoes. He eases the doorknob to open without a noise, but as the door swings open he takes the punch across his face as a total surprise, and falls on his ass. 

“Haven’t you done ENOUGH creeping around!” Isshin howls at him, foot on his chest. Ichigo goes rigid and begins to hyperventilate. 

“Isshin…” Urahara begins, sliding into the room, taking in all the details, his eyes widening at the scene, fan snapping up to cover his mouth.

Ichigo begins to heave in earnest, rolling on his side with eyes watering and blood running from what he’s sure is a broken nose. Isshin kicks him flat again not even trying to hold back. Ichigo wouldn’t be surprised if the hits were reiatsu enhanced as he feels the nausea swelling again and spiraling up. He’s so dizzy and his vision is blurring. Maybe begging for forgiveness will end the assault.

“Dad…”

“OH! He SPEAKS! Well, you listen to me, I am never picking up your sorry carcass again. You’re never coming back here. Get your shit and get out of this house, tonight. Find another family name, Kisuke can sell your sorry ass to some other household. Your mother would be embarrassed of you.”

Isshin kicks him again, bouncing his head off the floor. Ichigo curls in on himself. He can hear his sisters whimpering in the hallway. Overwhelmed and concussed, Ichigo blacks out. 

* * *

Urahara feels the entire brunt of Isshin’s reiatsu flattening over Ichigo. The girls are crying openly in the hallway now. The fan disappears into his sleeve and his lips curl back from his teeth as he gets into Isshin’s face, hissing, “What would you have him do? Abandon his sisters?”

Isshin grabs Urahara by his jinbei and effortlessly jams him up against the wall, and shouts, “I don’t care what he does, as long as it is SOMEWHERE ELSE. He is your problem now, keep him as a house boy for all I care. He is yours, no longer mine.” He drops Urahara and stalks over to Ichigo again and kicks him once more. Urahara transcends light and scoops up the boy, in his arms like a modern day Pieta. His eyes are large and woeful, tracking Isshin as he paces the room; instinctively tightening his grip.

Isshin drops into an ice cold quiet tone and states, “I don’t care what you do, he is your problem now. I don’t want to ever see him again.” He turns on his heel, yanks the door open and strides down the hallway back into his clinic office, slamming the door behind himself. Kisuke hears the bolt strike home in finality.

Urahara clutches Ichigo up against his chest and stands, stepping into the hallway. He is stricken at how light this body is, and he can feel every rib. The twins are snuffling, still crying and holding each other. He walks over and pats each one on the head with the smallest brush of Kidō, and stuffs a business card in Karin’s front pyjamas pocket. Then, in a swirl of robes Kisuke steps into an unparalleled Shunpo that almost leaves a sonic boom, sucking the air from the hallway momentarily.

🔥 🔥 🔥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💙 Thank you for the comments and kudos 💙
> 
> 🔥 🔥 🔥

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> my humble thanks to Fred, Hito, Nyxus and Mae
> 
> 🔥 🔥 🔥  
> @pacouro


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